Saver of Souls
by womawk
Summary: The Arrow and his team think they've seen it all. But something new is heading for Starling City which will take them all by storm. Something that will make them redefine just what, exactly, can be considered incredible. Something that will remind them that love itself is frequently incredible. Not exactly canon, not really AU. Reviews are welcome.
1. Chapter 1

In a dark corner of Starling City, the storm is bearing down on an alley of injured brick and widening gutters, and Detective Lance knows he's going to have to make this sweep fast or abandon it altogether. After all, seeing as he'd volunteered to treat this as yet another solo patrol, the higher ups will be requiring him to call in within the next half hour. He shines his torch down one byway, then another. All clear. But something keeps him pressing forwards, notwithstanding the authoritative commentary being issued by his commanding officer via the radio. Normally he'd hesitate before following up on a tip-off from the Arrow – the famous vigilante and his team have already cost Lance at least one promotion and a reputation, even if their activities do have results. But it's not normal procedure for the Arrow to call up Lance twice in one week. Something is up. As if to confirm his suspicions, there's a clatter from up ahead. He draws his weapon and sends a quick heads up to the chief, beginning to advance towards where the alley takes a sharp turn. Amid the tension, he thinks, as he always does in this moment of truth, of his wife and of his two girls. Although of he's honest with himself, the last few years have taught him that his younger girl would probably handle herself better in this situation that he would himself.

He raises the gun and rounds the corner.

"We've been expecting you."

Lances aims with both hands. The gunman in front of him is wearing a mask and what appears to be some serious body armour. The muzzle of his gun is level with Lance's own barrel. Behind him, at the end of the alleyway, there's a second gunman – and he has a girl. She's small and blonde and unconscious, obscured by the bulk of the mercenary, who's fumbling with a large steel case. Lance would like to get a closer look, but he can't take his eyes off the guard in front of him, just like he can't take his hands off the trigger to grab the radio that's crackling at his belt. He can't be sure, but he thinks the guard grins. The sky rumbles and a few drops of rain plummet to earth. Lance is prickling with tension. There's backup on the way, now that he's not responding, but he doesn't know how long they'll take to arrive, and now the other guy is lifting something metallic from the case. What the hell? He can't see the wretched thing in this darkness. Where's that Arrow when you need him?

"What's going on?" he demands.

"Wouldn't you like to know." The voice is hoarse, almost certainly modulated.

"You don't have to hurt the kid, come on." Lance gestures. "Let the kid go, huh, we can talk about this. We can work something out. What's it you want?"

"Don't worry yourself, Detective, we've already got it."

"Finish him." The second voice is deeper, colder, Slade-like.

The gun is raised and Lance readies himself. And then there's something whizzing through the air and an arrow glances off the wall beside them, just at head height. Instinctively all three of them look up – and the guard crumples, a second arrow lodged high in his forehead. The second gunman drops the girl and whips around with his own weapon, ready to open fire – Lance dives, but suddenly arrows are hailing down at crazy angles. There are running feet and the gunman thunders past, case in hand, firing backwards. Cursing, Lance scrambles to his feet, barking orders into the radio – his priority is the girl. He turns – and sees a shadows leaping into the countless other shadows that drape the upper reaches of the alleyway. He scrambles for his torch and the beam catches the silhouette of something long and sinuous, curving through the air before it disappears. It's no rope he's ever seen before.

_A…tail?_

There's a soft moan. The victim is stirring. He hurries over, reaching again for the radio. She appears unharmed, and in the harsh beam of the flashlight, strangely catlike with her fluid limbs and high forehead. Barely inches from her head, an arrow has embedded itself into the ground. He feels a surge of anger, but as he stoops to pick up the girl in a fireman's lift, he gets a closer look.

Two officers rush into the alleyway, followed by the guy in charge. "Medics are en route, E.T.A. three minutes."

"Did you get him?"

"Unfortunately, no, and it's looking unlikely that we will, with this storm about to break." He looks down at the dead guard, whose slowly draining lifeblood is adding yet another ingredient to the concoction of mud and grime that forms puddles over the stones. "The vigilante?"

Detective Lance stares down at the arrow. Like the others, it is roughhewn and feathered with the plumes of a common crow, and like the others, it seems to have been a chance shot. He counts seven arrows littering the alleyway before he turns to the other officer. "Not that one, I'm afraid. But let's get this kid out of here first."

Ten minutes later, he watches the girl being transferred to an ambulance, but unease infects the relief that never fails him. He checks that he's alone, then pulls out his cellphone and makes the call. The Arrow picks up at once. "Detective."

"Looks like you got competition. Again."


	2. Chapter 2

"We have a problem."

As he strides into his underground hideout, the Arrow – also known in to Starling City's elite as billionaire Oliver Queen, CEO of Queen Consolidated – is in a foul mood. Which does not faze his personal secretary/genius sidekick, Felicity Meghan Smoak, as she swivels around in her chair and calls, "Are we talking the 'unexpected-versatlity-of-an-insipid-and-seriously-overweight-villain-you-set-out-to-crush' kind of problem or -?"

"No. I took care of that." Oliver sets his bow in place and crosses over to the computers. "Lance called. He rescued a kidnapped kid from two gunmen and had help from a vigilante who took out one of them."

Felicity starts tapping at the keyboards. "You know, if you had time to make detours and give assists you could have stopped by that new Italian place that just opened, cause I am seriously starving-"

"That wasn't me giving the assists. Where's-"

"Sara?" The deep voice of John Diggle joins them. Oliver's official bodyguard/ right hand man steps into view. "She and Roy went to hang out with Sin and Thea. Do something normal for a change. Lance say what this vigilante looked like?"

"His statement made it into the official police report," supplies Felicity, typing as she speaks. "Apparently the rescuer/attacker, whatever you wanna call it, was of 'slight build and average speed'. What does 'average speed' mean? Average in comparison to what?"

"It means whoever it was wasn't as skilled as Sara and I," replies Oliver.

Diggle looks amused. "Chill, Oliver, we do know you're the best."

Oliver ignores him. "Lance told me the arrows were amateurish and primitive and that the archer missed repeatedly." He frowns. "He also mentioned something about – a tail."

"A tail," repeats Felicity. She swivels around and arches an eyebrow at him. " ."

"I know, it doesn't make sense. We're going to have to look into it though, no matter how improbable it sounds."

Felicity sits up straight. "What do you need?"

"I want you to monitor the police reports, see what comes in on the dead attacker and possible theories on the contents of that case. Also, any more attacks or incidents that indicate the surviving guy is moving in again, we don't need another Slade." Felicity nods and begins typing again. "Diggle, I need you to circle through the neighborhoods back there, see what come up. Be careful, and keep the comms running."

"Got it," says Diggle. "What about you?"

"I'm going back to get Sara and Roy."

"No such thing as normal, huh?"

"Not for us, no. Sin can keep Thea company. The three of us have to do a bit of scouting. We can't have another of those lunatics loose on the streets."

"You weren't so eager to take down Sara, you know. Although the same can't be said for Ms. Cutter."

"Sara is a trained assassin. She's a danger to her targets _only_. This 'vigilante' obviously does not know what they're doing and that makes them a danger to everyone, including themselves. Quite like Carrie Cutter, in fact. I'm bringing them in."

As Oliver leaves the foundry, Diggle folds his arms. "All I'm sayin' is, remember what happened last time."


	3. Chapter 3

"Look, I don't wanna complain or anything, but – what exactly are we after here?"

Roy Harper's question goes unanswered. He, Sara Lance and Oliver Queen are kitted out in their now soaked 'work clothes' and standing on a rooftop in the dripping warehouse district. The downpour has persisted for the last three hours, but it's not that rain that Roy's objecting to, given that the trio have suffered unimaginably worse hardships. Sara removes the once-bouffant blonde wig that is now no different from her corn coloured hair and wrings it out. "Roy's getting impatient, Olly. He doesn't like to keep Thea waiting. She'll be giving Sin a hard time."

"Well, we'll be the ones having a hard time if we don't track down this rogue," mutters Oliver. "Believe me, Roy, you wouldn't complain if you knew what I go through for leaving Laurel waiting-" Then he realizes who he's with. "Sara, I-"

"Yeah, Olly, we all know Laurel's got you hooked, no need to be shy now," smirks Sara. Even behind the black mask her eyes are dancing in a way that warms Oliver's heart, even if his inability to stop thinking about Laurel while on patrol is the cause of it. "And that's a good sign, don't get me wrong. Laurel's blossomed so much this year, it's just as well that she doesn't let all that go to waste."

Roy, however, refuses to be sidetracked that easily. "Look, Oliver, I know you want to find this guy and so do I, but all we know is that they have four limbs and a tail-"

"It's not a tail, Roy, Lance was overreacting-"

"Tail or not, we still have no way to track whatever it is, unless you guys've been secretly upgrading your tracking skills-"

"Actually, I have," interrupts Sara. "I had a lot of catching up to do with Nyssa in that line. Still, I don't think even she could follow a trail as thin as this after three hours of this."

"Well then, there's nothing to be done, is there?" queries Roy.

Oliver relents. "All right. We can't do any more tonight. But we're going to go back to base and see what Felicity and Diggle have for us and then tomorrow-"

"-will take care of itself." Roy is already a rooftop away. "See you back at Thea's, Sara." He draws up his hood and vanishes into the night.

"I somehow doubt that I'll be seeing him there," remarks Sara in a tone of some amusement.

"The state they get into, I doubt you'd _want_ to see him," says Oliver drily. He runs a hand along his bow. "I just don't like the idea of leaving a loose end out in the city."

"Take it easy," says Sara in her steady voice. "If their survival skills are of the same calibre as their archery, they'll be leaving soon enough, even if it's in a body bag. Now, do you need an escort to Laurel's before I head on to pick up Sin?"

"I wouldn't mind."

"You're not thinking of backing out, are you? The legendary Oliver Queen?"

Pulling their masks back on – because even in this new age of Starling City identities must still be guarded – the pair disappear over the rooftops, back to their own lives. Of course, they would have more time for their own lives if they hand no competition – if the new vigilante were to leave, for instance.

But the newcomer, like all those gone before, has no intention whatsoever of leaving. Tonight is only the first night – the first of many.


	4. Chapter 4

"I don't believe this."

Oliver takes a few more turns around the foundry. Diggle and Felicity exchange a glance. "Three weeks and we're still nowhere with this damn vigilante or what exactly they saved that kid from!"

"Well, what do you want Lance to do, _invent_ a sinister plot? The police just don't have evidence, and neither do we." Felicity gestures at the screens which never stop running. "There have been no more attacks, no more kidnappings and most of the kids who were reported missing have turned out to be runaways, which is a blessing if you think about it. Well, it's obviously a tragedy that so many kids are have to brave the world alone due to various unresolved reasons, but at least it means that they're alive and not dead in a ditch somewhere. Of course, being dead in a ditch would be preferable to some situations, which you would know better than anyone here – wait, sorry, that just came out-"

Diggle snorts before Felicity can really start digging herself a hole, which usually happens about twenty seconds into any and every one of her rambles. "I think what Felicity is trying to say is that violent crime in Starling is in decline. At this rate you might just be reduced to a day job."

"Yeah, Barry said the same thing the other night," contributes Felicity. "Not, you know, about the Arrow in particular, because he remembers all too well how that hero gave him the death glare when he made smart remarks, but in relation to Central City. Apparently there are rumours of a new vigilante who "saves people in a flash." Maybe he and Oliver could share shifts."

Oliver looks away. Only he knows that Felicity's current romantic interest, rising scientist Barry Allen, isn't what he says he is – he's the now famous Flash, and the fact that Felicity still hasn't noticed that Barry's no longer late every time he comes to visit might be proof of just how into him she is. Felicity doesn't notice the fantastic mixture of expressions aroused by his private train of thought – instead she swivels around in her chair as something starts vibrating. "Oliver! Oliver, isn't that your phone?"

"Right." He takes the call. "Detective."

Lance sounds harried. "Listen, we need your help. There's a hostage situation developing at a ballet school in one of the suburbs."

"Black Swan Academy," calls Felicity, pulling a news website onto the screen. Oliver leans over her shoulder to take a look. "Detective, this would normally be a task for the regular police force."

"Yeah, but normally we don't suspect that our attacker of three weeks ago is involved and that our unknown rescuer will intervene again." There's shouting in the background. "Look, I gotta go. Send your people. We could really use a few extra hands on this one."

Oliver disconnects the call and looks at the grid location pulsing on another screen. "Call Sara," he orders, striding over to the glass case where his work clothes are displayed beside his weapons. "Tonight I'll need backup."

"Well, Laurel sure will be delighted to here that."

"Fe-li-ci-ty-"

"I'm calling her, I'm calling-!"

Diggle is making a superhuman effort to not laugh. Oliver glares at him, and then pulls the green hood that once belonged to a girl named Shado over his head. It's time to hunt.


	5. Chapter 5

The crime scene is chaos.

Patrol cars surround the ballet school with a blaze of flashing lights and the unending howl of sirens. Half the officers are trying to hold back the hordes of frantic parents trying to get by. Here and there is the dark gleam of a limousine; Black Swan Academy breeds dark horses as well, offspring of those Starling City elite who have managed to hold on to their wealth despite the tumult of the past few years. If he hadn't known otherwise, Quentin Lance would have said that this is a desperate fund raiser by some financially swamped gang leader. He is aware of the constant crackle from the radio at his belt, but he also keeps one hand on his holster and his eyes make a continuous sweep of the building and the dimness of the streets beyond the floodlights. Working with the vigilante has taught his that a situation where everyone is watching is a situation where you need to keep your eyes open.

Oliver and Sara are already in the building. According to Lance, the hostages are being held somewhere on the second floor, most probably in one of the larger practice halls, whence they make their way by dint of taking out guards as they go. "No body armour, makeshift masks", remarks Oliver, as yet another guard crumples under the influence of a knockout dart. "Probably recently recruited, just hired muscle. They're not the ones we're after."

Sara runs on ahead and signals to him. They have arrived. Around a dozen men stand in the dim corridor outside a long room lined with mullioned windows, listening to the distant commotion. Oliver takes aim. He takes down the three nearest guards before the others react. Gunfire erupts and Oliver dives, letting fly two more arrows even as he hits the ground. There's a yell of agony and two more guards drop and Sara swings herself into sight, her staff spinning in her hands. Spurred on by her appearance, Oliver keeps firing and Sara spins like a blonde haired tornado, breaking bones in every direction. Downstairs they hear gunfire and know that the police are forcing an entrance. They have to move fast. As the last guard is slammed into a wall by Sara, Oliver lodges a black arrow between two panes of glass. Three seconds later the arrowhead explodes and an entire panel of the doorway collapses. Oliver strings another arrow and they charge through the gap.

At one end of the hall the students of the ballet school are prostrated on the floor, unmoving, the bodies of two instructors among them. A third drowns slowly in a crimson stain. And at the other end of the hall, behind a group of guards with their fingers tight on the trigger, is the gunman described by Lance, with the exception that he's now clad in full body armour and a helmet. One girl, wearing the white costume of the academy, is motionless on a steel table swept clean of its usual props – and being fed into her arm is a fast-emptying syringe.

"Drop the weapons", comes the order. "Drop them, or she gets another dose of the tranquilizer, except this time, it won't just knock her out."

"Go right ahead," returns Sara, her eyes cold. "We came for you."

"Shall we finish them?" asks one of the guards.

Oliver shoots before he finishes speaking; Sara's staff soars across the room and skewers the man next to him. Guns go off; the last three men are more experienced than they seen and as Oliver ducks and swivels, trying to finish them, the leader curses and pulls the syringe from the girl's arm. He runs over to the window and vaults through; no doubt there's a fire escape beneath. "Canary, take him!" yells Oliver in frustration, sending another two arrows flying. One finds its target, evening the odds, and as Oliver charges for the last men standing, Sara cartwheels over to the window and through it. Oliver flings one guard down the length of the hall and turns around – to find the last gun being leveled at his head. But this time his bow is lying seven feet away.

There is a gunshot and the man goes down, clutching his now useless arm. Oliver knocks him out, and then looks up. Halfway in and halfway out of the broken panel, Lance nods urgently towards the window. Oliver nods to him in silent gratitude, and then hurls himself into the night.

As expected, there is a fire escape beneath. Oliver skids down one flight of steps and is about to take a second to ground level when something catches his eye. Along the dull iron railing gleam a few recent scratches, so recent, in fact, that the rain has had no time to rust them over. Oliver looks across the alley below at the building opposite and the next minute he is firing a rappelling arrow across to the windowsill where the gouges of a grappling hook are just visible. It wouldn't be the first time a criminal has surprised him with unimaginable agility.

A few blocks away, out of earshot of the sirens, Sara is having surprises of her own. The target has vanished and she's beginning to wonder if shimmying down the fire escape in haste was such a good idea when an engine fires up around the corner. She knows before she takes off that there is a black Mercedes, part of a cohort of other identical black Mercedeses, waiting to rush the target to safety, and she reaches for her comm, hoping Felicity can get a hit on the car plates that she's about to see. She swings around the corner and almost goes blind as the car roars past, punching the air out of its way. Wishing devoutly for her bike, Sara raises her staff, preparing to take out one of the rear tires – and then the car swerves across the street, the bonnet buckling with a soft _crump_ and a rush of flame. Sara springs into motion; the driver falls out of the car and raises his weapon. There's a _twang_ and he drops; Oliver steps out of the shadows and moves towards the car. He braces himself and kicks the passenger door in. Sara spins her staff around to cover him.

The car is empty.

"What?" Sara growls. "But – no – there wasn't enough time, not after you blew out the engine - "

"I didn't blow out the engine!"

"Then who-"

Oliver starts running and Sara follows. Amidst the smoke and gloom she has no idea where he's headed until it happens. At ground level some twenty yards ahead, a thin shadow detaches itself from the other shadows and begins to move.

They have the vigilante.

"Felicity, I need a location on the target!" barks Oliver.

Felcity's voice reaches them both over the comms, rapid but controlled. "Lance just called in; he says the guards appear to be from the warehouse district on the edge of the Glades. I've got your position; the police are circling to the south so he's probably heading west, according to the low traffic and the-"

"Sara!"

Sara curves away into one of the many alleys into which they are precipitated and Oliver sprints on. He shoots, but the fleeting figure ahead of him isn't enough of a target, and he knows he has to end this on speed alone. These are the times when he wishes he got on a bit better with Barry Allen. The alley widens, broadening into a dead end and the vigilante slows; looking up and knowing that there's no way they're getting over a wall that high, Oliver raises his bow. "Don't move!"

In the darkness of this alley overhung by apartment blocks and washing lines, all he can see are shadows. Then, without warning, a light goes on in a balcony overhead and dirty yellow light filters down. the vigilante backs up into a patch of shadow, but now Oliver can see the slightness of the figure, slighter even than the girl back at the Academy, a low slung quiver betraying the presence of long arms. He sees the tips of narrow boots, and is reminded painfully of Shado, the girl who continues to haunt him from her grave on Lian Yu. Which is when he realizes that the vigilante is a woman.

"Who are you?"

The voice that answers him is a hiss. "I'm not the one you should be looking for."

"That's for me to decide. Who – are – you?"

"If you tell us, we just might let you live." Sara steps out of the shadows. "Did you get him?" breathes Oliver.

A sudden laugh startles them. "Of course not. Otherwise she wouldn't be here." The hoarse hiss is unsettling. As is the stench. Some animal must have made its lair here. "You would have done far better to let me hunt him."

"Time's up," say Oliver, and fires. The arrow explodes into a magnesium flare the moment it hits the brickwork but the vigilante is no longer there. Ten feet above him, she bounds up the bricks on all fours as if she's skipping across a perfectly flat surface. Sara takes a short run and vaults into the air, but there are nothing but shadows atop the wall. She looks at the maze of alleys branching off in every direction on the other side and shakes her head at Oliver.

He, however, is staring upwards. "Did you see it?"

"What?"

Oliver walks forward until his nose is practically touching the wall. On the clay surface of the brickwork is a chronology of tiny scratches, the same scratches, in fact, which adorned the rail of the fire escape. "Your father was right."

"About what, Ollie?"

"The tail," says Oliver, and stares upwards.


End file.
